On Aging

At 72, a quiet awareness of life's impermanence is always looming in my mind. Not in a morbid, “I give up” kind of way, but more in the “I have to make the most of every moment” kind of way. That’s my job now: live each day as fully as possible, with minimal friction and maximum appreciation. I love the way this mindset makes me more present and grateful, and I recognize how aging has facilitated this sort of thinking within me.

So much of my life was spent planning, striving, trying to do too many things, and worrying about so many people—mostly situations out of my control, burdens that weren’t mine to carry. Now, every day, my focus is on slowing down. This means taking time to really notice everything around me; the subtle, mutable colors on a grey day, how a smile lights up a whole face, the feeling of relief when I exhale. I take a breath—one after the other—which opens up space for me to reflect on the inevitable existential questions that arise. I have learned to pause and listen to my heart for answers.

I said to someone the other day that I’ve become an under-thinker. I’m OK with that. I’ve practiced consistently to quiet my mind through meditation and yoga—to the point where I let my heart and my instincts lead me. I leave more to chance. I’m less afraid. I know the drawbacks of overthinking, because I’ve been there and I’ve seen where it leads. I can’t say it’s ever improved a situation. What has improved my life is learning to trust the quieter voice within, allowing space for creativity, gratitude, and the simple joy of being present.

For me, like most humans, heart and mind are often vying for first place. I use logic and temper it with intuition. Both are necessary. I think we each have to find the correct balance of inner and outer voices to guide us, see what path works best for our unique vibe, and go with it. Trust ourselves a bit more, and be grateful that life is open—especially if we have options. Each of us is different, and yet so much is universal. I’ve found that life is much easier when I remain open, have patience for the natural pace of things, and let people be who they are.

I know one thing: creativity has no expiration date. The fact that I’ve arranged my life to rely on my ability to create is no accident. Regardless of how I’ve transformed over the years, I need it like medicine. It gives my life purpose. There is always a new idea waiting for me. I think it is the real fuel that keeps me young at heart and happy to be alive. Even when times are hard and I feel torn, or saddened by world events, it never hurts to make something. It has been a driving force since I was a small girl with a handful of crayons, and it’s still a constant urge. Creative productivity is my drug of choice. It’s the only medication I take—along with yoga, meditation, and laughter (the most essential daily nutrient).

These days I eat, sleep, work, write, and create whenever I want, and I am thankful every day for that. The weather determines how most days will unfold… so I am not totally free. But I don’t mind having nature as my boss. It seems important to live in such a way that we are always aware of the wind—navigating calm days and finding safe harbor from storms. It’s a real-life metaphor.

In many ways, this rhythm mirrors the larger journey of aging: an acceptance that not everything can be controlled, but that there is beauty and freedom in moving with the natural flow. Creativity, presence, and gratitude are the anchors that keep me steady through it all. If I can live each day tuned into that balance—between heart and mind, effort and ease, stillness and expression—then I know I am truly making the most of every moment.